Fiction

It was roughly ten hours too early for Private First Class James C. Bartholomew to be marching.

Dear 1849,

I’m supposed to close on you in about two days. The lawyer keeps calling it “finalizing the transaction,” but that’s not really what this is.

There was a man who worked on the corner of Bellevue and St. James six days a week, who only came out at dusk to have a smoke. I usually saw him from a distance, across from the park. He was weary, very weary.

a time, there was a girl who adored space. She read pages upon pages of books about constellations and the stars, memorizing names and how many miles away they were from earth.

One morning

I woke up,

With the stars shining in my face

Amidst the gentle midnight blue sky.

No sun to greet me, 

No moon to comfort me.

I sit in my closet, my phone in my hands, dialing 911. Downstairs, I hear glasses breaking, tables and chairs being thrown and smashed against the wall, the man who broke into our home screaming. 

My name is Leah, I’m 12, and I’m weird. My mom says it’s not me, it’s just everyone else and they’re still growing up, but if I’m the odd one out, I’m pretty sure it’s just me. 

    There was a fox in the woods with a crown bestowed upon his head. He wandered the area, and every other fox bowed to him. He had power, more so than anyone else. 

That's not me. 

It looks like me, talks like me, thinks like me, but that's not me. 

It may say things only I could know, but trust me, it's not real. 

The sun is pink, and the sky is green on the day that I am standing knee deep in perfectly still salt water. The tired marble floor of heaven is finally dissolving beneath my feet.

"Just another bite," it says as it claws away my flesh from the bone. "I'm helping you." 

She was.

I remember you. We remember you.
You used to come in every weekend with your mother and brother when you were younger. They made you seem like you were made for softer things. They used to pretend like they were made for softer things too.